Dead Man Forever
by Dan The Man Bogosian
Summary: A SWAT Officer's Mission ends up differently than expected & a fed goes in to help & how a mob frontman deals with it. Chapter 3 is up. Rated R for language and violence.
1. Never kill

DEAD MAN FOREVER  
  
  
  
A cop in Liberty City. Not an FBI Agent, not a gangster, nor was I a traitor to the police. I was loyal to the police in all ways.  
  
  
  
I didn't take no shit from anybody. I didn't take shit from my boss and I didn't take shit from my friend's. I dished it out. I hated people.  
  
  
  
It was a rainy day. Pooring rain from the sky, dripping. Weather forecast on Channel 6 said it would be hailing, so if I wanted to get the mission done the time was now; no doubt about it.  
  
  
  
This morning, I stepped into my garage. It leaked more often than my heart thumped, but I didn't care. Water's water, right?  
  
  
  
I got in my Police Car and drove to work - it wasn't to far away. A simple, fast, and obviously dangerous car… or at least it was obviously dangerous to anyone who knew that I wouldn't take shit.  
  
  
  
I was a SWAT team member - the youngest on the squad. Once I had ran in ahead of the rest of the team, shot two men in the arms and rescued a few hostages - all before the rest of the squad had realized there was hostages.  
  
  
  
When I got to work, I immediately got in an Enforcer. Not the driver, I was a man in the back of the vehicle, closest to the door. First in and last out was what I did. Take the hits or avoid the hits. I did what every SWAT member should.  
  
  
  
Including killing people. Everyone SWAT man should kill, right? Right?  
  
  
  
We were tailing a Triad Fish Van that was driving to a company that sold more than just synthetic fish. It sold Crack, Heroine, Pot, and Spank. I hated drug dealers.  
  
  
  
I lit up a smoke. Good ol' tobacco cigarettes, which I had bought off the black market since the tax on 'em here was so high. Cigarettes calmed me and soothed me, and most cops in this Enforcer smoked 'em to. At the time, I had never killed a sole; and I wasn't planning on in.  
  
  
  
The Triad Fish Van slowly pulled into the gates of the Triad Grade A Imitation Fish company. Turtle Shell fish company was another name for it, but everyone in Liberty City called it what it was - a crappy fish company that doesn't even use fish.  
  
  
  
We kept driving passed the company, until we got semi-hidden. The fish van probably didn't see us, and it didn't matter - our mission was to confiscate drugs and put the dealers in prison, not kill everyone in sight. That was just the mission plan at the time, though…  
  
  
  
The doors opened, slowly and loudly. It started hailing just then and there. I hopped out, landing on two legs with my M-16 in hand. All the other SWAT's had M-16's and their pistols, but I had my M-16 and an Assault Shotgun. I ran directly for the gates and put my back against the stone wall once I got their, not showing my presence.  
  
  
  
That's when a pack of five Mafia Sentinels pulled up, along with an Armored Limousine. A six-pack, one with the contest-winning cap; you might say. Two of the Sentinels swerved right into the gate, knocking them down and causing all the Triad's in the company to look at the Sentinels.  
  
  
  
Me and the rest of the guys had no idea what to do until we were fired upon - a.k.a. once the men in the three Mafia Sentinel's noticed their was the best police squad in Liberty standing right infront of them.  
  
  
  
So we ran. My entire team ran, me first, for cover. The closest thing to cover we could find before one of us was killed was right behind our Enforcer - and thank god our Enforcer was bullet proof.  
  
  
  
The turtle's came out of their shell's when the Triad's started unleashing fire on some of the Mafia front men who had been firing at us, who hadn't been firing at all.  
  
  
  
That's when we all lit another cigarette after tossing our last butte and decided to start a stand off, a shoot out.  
  
  
  
"I've never killed a man." I said.  
  
  
  
The rest of the boy's ignored me. They were bad asses, other guys who didn't take shit from anyone but me. They had tattoo's marking the names of gang leader's they killed, while I had signature's from all the inmates I got - more wimpy, yes; but my job was to capture, not kill. That was my job until then, anyway.  
  
  
  
We loaded our sixty-shell clips into the M-16's. I looked to the man next to me, Roger. Roger was yet another bad ass, willing to kill for a living. He thought killing was keeping America alive, he was living to put someone else in danger - he'd be a cop without his pay if they offered it.  
  
  
  
"Don't waste the ammo. Kill them - they've wasted their lives… They deserve my bullets."  
  
  
  
I didn't care what he said. It was pointless, even though I should've said it as the Squad Leader.  
  
  
  
"On three…" another man said.  
  
  
  
"One…"  
  
  
  
"Two…"  
  
  
  
"Three!"  
  
  
  
We popped up, eyes focused on our scopes but still moving ever- so-quickly. There were men everywhere! I had never been in any thing close to a fire fight as this… This was a fire fight.  
  
  
  
Men fell down everywhere I looked. I hadn't shot anything but one tire on each of the car's wheels. Hey, somebody had to do it. Then we dropped again.  
  
  
  
"FIRE AT SOMEONE, GOD DAMMIT!" Roger yelled directly at my face, getting spit on my SWAT helmet.  
  
  
  
I hated Roger. He deserves patrol, just shooting at any slightest thing (Liberty's Internal Affair's wouldn't care because Liberty had no Internal Affairs). Hate is a strong word, and I not only hated Roger, I wanted him to feel the pain of three Uzi bullet's in the shin, like I had gotten because of his stupid 'macho' ways.  
  
  
  
"I am the squad leader here. You will do as I say. I say that you SHUT YOUR MOTHER FUCKING MOUTH AND AIM FOR THEM YOURSELF, ASS LICKER!"  
  
  
  
No one minded what I said besides Roger - they knew I had it in for him. I knew he had it in for me. I just didn't realize how much.  
  
  
  
Roger charged at me after dropping his gun, holding his six inch knife. I fell back and kicked him into the air, forcing him to back flip towards the outer fire.  
  
  
  
I thought he would've been shot by a bullet. No - he dropped his knife and fell on it. It severely wounded his left shin, probably preventing him from walking.  
  
  
  
"JEEEESUS! JESUS CHRIST! THE PAIN!" Roger screamed.  
  
  
  
So I hurt the guy! It's not like any one on my squad really liked him.  
  
  
  
"Why the hell did you do that?" another one of the guys barked.  
  
  
  
Why did I do it? What was I supposed to do - let him stab me with a machete the size of a butcher's knife? Jesus, they were idiots!  
  
  
  
"I did it because he would've killed me!"  
  
  
  
They ignored me. Apparently it was a rhetorical question - so I ignored Roger. One of the guys began to count again.  
  
  
  
"One… Two… Three!"  
  
  
  
We popped up again, only this time with out Roger, just me and the three others. They were Mark - the one who was counting off, John - a fat guy who thought assault was fun, and Donald - a guy who was sent here from New York by the FBI's orders.  
  
  
  
The Triad's had been losing men fast - not that I cared. It's just that I didn't expect the Triad's to be killed off like water trying to be thicker than blood. The Mafia had apparently forgotten us cops, but the Triad's didn't - and that's why they were losing.  
  
  
  
I aimed at a couple Mafia front men. They didn't notice - they forgot about us as I said. I began to pull the trigger.  
  
  
  
I inhaled. My heart pounded. I slowly pulled the trigger back, adjusting the scope to be aimed directly at one of their heads. Sweat dripped off my face like water goes down the drain.  
  
  
  
Can I do this?, I thought.  
  
  
  
I pulled a little further.  
  
  
  
Then we were shot at, and I barely made myself fall down in time.  
  
  
  
"I've been hit!" John yelled.  
  
  
  
I hated John. He was to fat. He was to obnoxious. He was annoying. He could kill a man like it was swatting a fly, as if people had no feelings and were just there.  
  
  
  
"Call for back up. What happened to Roger?"  
  
  
  
Silence behind the Enforcer. I looked to my left, and saw a dead man. A dead man, forever. 


	2. Protocol

Protocol sucked. You wouldn't expect me to say that, but god dammit, I wanted to bash everyone in the planning room's heads in. I hated them all.  
  
They left a SWAT Team up against both the Mafia and the Triads in a public area. What are they doing to these poor, innocent people? Well, okay, maybe not innocent - even us fed's did something illegal. After all, this is Liberty City.  
  
They did it because it was protocol. Everything was protocol around here. Hailing outside, SWAT's doing a major bust only to get busted, and two gangs going at it at the same time. All we could do was shelter the people around it. . . because it was protocol.  
  
Well, in ten minutes I get out of here. Unless the bureau brought the situation back up before I left, I'll go straight home. My home, the opposite side of town. My home, my only safe spot. My home. Crime free at home.  
  
I was bored of what we were going over. We were going over ways to stop some random guy who keeped pissing the cops and us fed's off on a daily basis. Idiots, commiting crimes for no reason. Money this and money that, if you could keep away from us you could get a job with us for a higher pay and no problems with killing people. Killing people was alright. Nothing wrong with it if you do it to a bad person. Just speeds up God's process, and we all need that.  
  
". . .George? What are you doing?" the leader asked.  
  
I was gazing out the window, but I knew he meant what I was thinking. I still had that SWAT team stuck in my head.  
  
"Why don't we just go and save those SWAT's?" I responded.  
  
"We here at the FBI have priorities. You, being young, probably don't know them well quite. . ."  
  
"Our priority is to save lives. How are we saving lives by deciding the frequency of helicopter patrols when we could stop a firefight?"  
  
"Is George the only one who feels this way?"  
  
I looked over to see who else on the long meeting table, and how they responded. Nobody important besides me, clearly, but I was surprised to see that I wasn't the only one raising the hand. Infact, everyone was raising their hands. No one else should count here.  
  
"Well, in that case, maybe I do have my priorities screwed up. I'll send a team out, and George: You're on it."  
  
10 minutes away from starting my weekend and I get put on the job to save a few lives.  
  
. . .  
  
I was in an FBI car. Apparently this bust wouldn't be that much of a secret bust. We all had our sirens on, me leading the pack. I had my M-16 with me. And thank god.  
  
I saw the shootout. I saw one SWAT lieing down and bullets whizzing by all of their heads. I felt the need to save them. . . And I will save them.  
  
They will pay, I thought.  
  
I drove into the limousine of the Mafia's, diving out of the car like an action movie star seconds before impact. It bought the SWAT's some time, maybe even saved a life.  
  
I ran directly to the eclipsed SWAT van, ducking and dashing my way behind it to where the SWAT's were.  
  
"Who the hell are you?" a short SWAT queried  
  
The bastard. I go out of my way to protect these people's lives on a daily basis, nearly kill myself buying them time, ruining a car and spending all five of Liberty's taxpayers dollars, and all he can say to me is. . .  
  
"WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?" he asked again.  
  
"Easy, easy. . ." Donald said.  
  
I recognized Donald. I was the one who suggested the bureau send some of their special agents to the regular police for assistance. Donald was easily one of the best fighter's ever to go through Federal training.  
  
"What? Who is this kid?" the short man asked again.  
  
Donald stood up for me by responding with "He's a fed, you friggin' idiot!"  
  
"Why are you here?"  
  
"The bureau wouldn't grant a full raid, so I took the Liberty to get myself and a few other agents to come here and try to save your god damn lives. That alright?!"  
  
I was a tad pissed off.  
  
"Where's the other Feds, then?"  
  
I forgot about them.  
  
Looking out past the SWAT vehicle for a moment while the SWAT's covered me, I saw that may partners had been cornered in between the Gate, the Triads, and the Mafia.  
  
"We need to get over to them," I said.  
  
"We need them to get over here," the short man said.  
  
"Just kill, god damn it! Kill! KILL! KILL!" the fat SWAT said.  
  
Amen to that.  
  
Kill them all. . .  
  
Without actually planning anything in particular, one of the SWAT's counted and then all of us popped up and shot at anything that shot at us.  
  
"How's Roger doing?" Donald asked.  
  
"Roger?" I responded. Who the hell was Roger?  
  
The short man pointed at a body lying on the ground.  
  
I hated the sight of a dead man. A dead man, forever. 


	3. Mist

I released my breath silently through my nose, pushing away the fog in my face. It wasn't really a fog; I guess it was more of a mist. Yeah, it was a mist. The mist came from the rain, the hail; whatever the hell was falling down us that dreary day.  
  
"Straighten out your tie."  
  
Joey was always telling me to do that kinda stuff. Always wanting me to straighten my die, iron my suit twice a day, drive more carefully; all about precision, so he said. I straightened my tie just to make the friggin' idiot happy. Couldn't even ask politely, always had to bark at as if he were my friggin' drill instructor in the Sicilian Army I had joined.  
  
"Good. The better you look, the more prepared you is. Jus' be careful." Joey said.  
  
Hey Joey, I have an idea! Why don't I be careful until told to do otherwise, and you go fuck yourself? Christ, what a fucking maroon. If he wasn't closely related to the Don, I swear, I woulda shot the asshole right then and there.  
  
And exactly how is looking good gonna make me a better shot, Joey? Bitch.  
  
"On three, we bust out from behind 'dis wall and head into the heart of the Triads." Joey said again.  
  
I hated the count up. Made me nervous. I had to light up a cigarette. Cigarette soothed it, took out all the suspense of the count.  
  
"One."  
  
All the count did was add suspense  
  
"Two."  
  
Suspense ate away at me, took away from my accuracy. Made me angry. Made me a madman, who just happened to be holding two guns at the time. Lucky for me, I was a quick lighter when it came to cigarettes. Inhale, exhale, puff; the count lost all its effect.  
  
"Three!"  
  
I busted out of the corner like a bat outta hell. Two hands, two pistols, two clips full of bullets with bodies to shoot at.  
  
I'd shot people plenty of times before this, but hell. I'd never actually gone through and killed a guy.  
  
Enforcer, banked on its side to my left. Sentinels with bullet holes behind me. Feds and their cruisers crashed right infront of me. There was this one cop, this one Joe-mofo who shot out a bunch a guys. Not fat, not skinny, not tall, but sorta young lookin'.  
  
Joey made a mistake that morning; that morning he decided to let the dogs loose from their chains in a neighborhood full of mailmen. I was ready to bite.  
  
Fuck the cops, we came for the Triads.  
  
That moment around the corner felt like slow motion. Bullets whizzed by my ears at lightning speeds, men cried for their lives falling over in agony. It was heaven, it was an adrenaline rush I couldn't get anywhere else. This was my chance.  
  
BOOM  
  
Shot one at the Enforcer; hit a dead guy.  
  
BOOM  
  
Shot two from the right pistol, shot a Triad in the leg. Joey finished 'im off before I got the chance.  
  
BOOM  
  
Shot three, back to the left beretta; just some cover fire.  
  
BOOM  
  
Shot four, more cover.  
  
BOOM  
  
We turned around the corner of the Triads fake fishing company or whateva. We was gonna kill those little asian whores. Our goal was just to bust in, blow up the place, and maybe kill a couple of Triad's while we was at it. It wasn't supposed to be the hell that it turned out to be. From that moment forth, my day got worse.  
  
"Joey, behind ya!" some goon shouted.  
  
Joey was right infront of me, facing the same direction I was. That meant a Triad was also behind me.  
  
Big mistake.  
  
I turned as quickly as I could, I turned as fast as my muscles would let a human turn. I turned, guns lighting up like a bon fire on New Years.  
  
BOOM  
  
BOOM  
  
I shot one. I didn't just shoot 'im, though; I killed 'im. It was like nothing I'd ever seen before then. I shot him. I killed him. He was a dead man. A dead man, forever.  
  
My god, I was in the wrong fucking business. 


End file.
